The Answer to Every Question You Could Possibly Have About the Fiat 124 Spider

Earlier this week, R&T editor-at-large Sam Smith attended the American-market launch of the 2017 Fiat 124 Spider. The car, which is based on the ND-chassis Mazda MX-5, goes on sale this summer, starting at $25,990. This is the text that Smith sent to the home office for review. Smith is a strange person. Also, we're working on a comparison test between the Miata and the 124—watch this space.

What's going on here? This is just a rebadged Miata, right? You guys spend too much time on Miatas.

Close! This is a rebadged, restyled, ND-chassis Miata with a 1.4-liter, 160-hp, 184 lb-ft, turbocharged four-cylinder under the hood. It replaces the Mazda's 2.0-liter, 155-hp, 148 lb-ft, nonturbo four-cylinder, which is one of the best small engines on the market—linear, responsive, torquey for its size, and efficient.

The 1.4 comes from the Fiat 500 Abarth, where it makes the same power. Next to the Miata, the 124 gets new seats, additional sound deadening, a thicker rear windshield, acoustic glass, some soft-touch trim, and a general retune. The car weighs a claimed 104 pounds more in base trim, likely more when you add options or select the luxury package. Every exterior panel is different, and the car is 5 inches longer, presumably in overhang. There's 10 more liters of trunk space. As on the Miata, you can have a six-speed manual or a six-speed, torque-converter Aisin automatic.

So . . . A Miata with a new motor and new pants and some leather.

But also Italian brio! Or something. Plus neat press shots made up to look like old press shots. And, oddly, Mopar logos etched into the window glass. That one prompted some double-takes.

I'm going to call it "Fiata." Because I'm clever.

So much. No one's ever thought of that. Good work. Or, as they say in Italy, "bene work."

Fine. No one says "bene work." I was just trying to make you feel better.

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What was the press presentation like?

Good question. Also, no one asks that, but you're a fictional character being spoken to/typed at by a journalist on deadline using one of the oldest writing tropes on the Internet, so I can pretend that you said it. Power is intoxicating.

The press presentation was weird. First off, the car's American press launch took place at a hotel in San Diego, near Carlsbad. Which is weird enough on its own, because Carlsbad might be the single most culturally homogenous place in America. But more important, at no point did anyone mention the words "Mazda," "MX-5," or "Miata." (As an experiment, I said the words "Eunos Roadster" to the young bartender who served me something not unlike coffee from a Nespresso machine, but I got no response. Culture is lost on the young.) Go figure.

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Regardless: There were two cars. A 1968 124 Spider was parked next to a 2016 Fiat 124 Spider. All this did was make journalists talk about how much they wanted to drive the old Spider, because that's what journalists do, because we are inexcusable ride mooches and also suckers for broken and flawed old stuff. (No one was allowed to drive the old Spider, because Fiat people are not stupid.) Then a bunch of Americans introduced a handful of Italians, and those Italians used a Powerpoint presentation to discuss Italian design and styling. The Miata was referred to constantly as "our predecessor"—things like "compared with our predecessor, we use thicker rear window glass"—but no one actually came out and stated the car's lineage.

Charmingly, in the closing stages of the presentation, an FCA representative used the words "Italian craftsmanship." In a program for an Italian restyle of a Japanese car that was partially retuned for this country by Americans working for an American company that's currently owned by an Italian company. And the car is built in Hiroshima.

Press shots don't make anything look bad. That's kind of the point of press shots. This is a Miata that's been restyled to pay tribute to a 50-year-old Italian classic—a carefully considered design and proportion set that's been screwed with. The design people at Fiat Chrysler Automobiles are some of the smartest, most talented people in the business, on either side of the Atlantic.

This is not their best work.

Come on. Tell me what you really think.

You know that 1968 Spider I said they had at in San Diego? That car was launched in 1966. It was drawn up, with almost no concessions to occupant safety or government regulation, during one of the greatest eras of Italian design, automotive or otherwise. It's a hard act to follow.

So you're saying it's ugly in person.

Ugly is a matter of taste.

What's your taste?

Um . . . fine. My taste is that it's ugly.

Wait, no, that's not fair. Let's go with "overwrought." I don't envy the guys who had to draw this thing; redoing someone else's work with less money and the same hard points is never easy. Especially if you're trying to tribute or update something else.

You can see the cues they took from the original 124—slab sides, a fish-mouth nose, the cheery headlamps-as-bulging-eyes trope. But on a Miata's footprint, sharing the details of a car originally designed to look much different, it doesn't quite work. You lose the compact, cohesive charm—even that hint of sex appeal, the hips and curves—of the original car. Those headlamps just look like weird, stretch-faced guppy eyes. No guppy was ever sexy.

No guppy was ever sexy.

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That sucks.

I know, right? Doesn't an Italian restyle of anything sound great? The Miata sort of has this Hey There You Jackass Let's Go F*ck Some Shit Up look. The old Spider looked like a happy puppy made out of bent paper. The new Spider looks like a fish that drank too much. Italian cars are like dresses: Dresses are supposed to accentuate the form underneath, not make it look dumpier and larger. Italian styling at its best is elegant, simple, confident. Ironically, the Miata is more of that.

What's a 124 supposed to be, anyway? My dad had a Fiat 124. It had big 1970s safety bumpers and never ran right. He also had an Alfa Romeo Spider. He talks about the Alfa the way he talks about old girlfriends. With the Fiat, he just talks about that time his mechanic told him to sell the car and run.

Ah, good question. The original 124 Spider was like an Alfa Spider that someone made less . . . Alfa. Fast Alfas always want to get in your pants. Fast Fiats want to go barhopping and then crash on your couch at three in the morning with a half-eaten slice of pizza on their chest.

The original 124 Spider was generally slower and less emotionally involving than an Alfa Spider, but it also cost less. (This, for the record, is generally the difference between any post-World-War-II Alfa Romeo and the equivalent Fiat.) It was a charming car, in its own right, but then, I'm biased—I used to be an Alfa mechanic.

So the car drives like a Miata?

Ooh, no. Not at all. But also kind of yes.

Interesting. In a good way?

This whole business is interesting. Cars are interesting. This car is interesting. I didn't really like it, but it's interesting.

The good: The interior is nicer—more leather, higher-grade materials, a top that seems to keep out more noise on the highway. Unlike in the Miata, you can have a conversation with the top up at 80 mph without really trying. It makes the car slightly less fatiguing, which Fiat was obviously shooting for.

The inside of the car is virtually identical to that of the Mazda, just rounded off in places—a longer grab handle here, less hard plastic there. The controls are basically the same, and placed identically, which is good, because the Miata's various knobs and buttons are simple and easy to understand at a glance. (Odd bit of trivia: Outside of the instrument cluster, the fonts are the same as in the Mazda, that distinctly Japanese sans-serif type. Would it really have been that much trouble to change fonts?) This is easily the most understated, tasteful, and solid-feeling interior in the Fiat lineup. (Not a tall hurdle, but that doesn't mean it's not true.)

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The extra trunk space is nice. Legitimately useful. I crammed a large roll-aboard bag into the back of the Fiat and still had a usable amount of room left; the last time I put this bag in a Miata, it basically took up the whole trunk.

The torque is handy in traffic.

The automatic seems to work well and helps reduce perceptible turbo lag.

The top, as on the Miata, goes down in seconds, by hand. Flip, done.

We weren't allowed to obtain performance numbers, but in a straight line, the car feels roughly as quick as a Miata.

The Abarth trim level—a 100-pound drop in weight from the 2436-pound quote, plus an extra 10 hp thanks to a quad-tip exhaust—sounds amazing. Guttural, snarly, and obnoxious, like a Fiat 500 Abarth but maybe a hair deeper. The sound alone makes you want to kiss it. Plus, it has Bilsteins and Brembo calipers. Good things.

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I'm ready for the bad.

You sure?

Sock it to me.

Really? Who says that any more? What is this, 1958?

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Anyway, moving on. The bad: The engine is laggy and sluggish on throttle at low rpm. Without the Abarth exhaust, it sounds like nothing in particular. In normal driving, and without a direct A-B comparison, the steering feels slightly woolier than that of a Miata. You still get the Miata's incredible open cockpit and great sight lines, but the view across the 124's larger, wider, and flatter hood removes some of the Mazda's compact, sewn-around-you vibe.

Suspension tuning is an objective thing that's also a matter of taste, but in non-Abarth trim, the 124 isn't as much of a giggle. There's less body roll than Miata, but the car also seems softer and less crisp in reaction. On tight California back roads, you end up just kind of leaning on the front tires, not really thinking much about how the car works or loving what it's doing. Which is in stark opposition to the Miata, but hey, on a car this small, tiny suspension and weight changes make a big difference.

The gearbox is a little clunky; gone is the Miata's snick-snick snap-snap brainless shifter, which you flip between gears without thinking. That transmission is the best on the market. In its place is a nice, but not excellent, six-speed with a large, square knob and slightly more effort. The two are close enough in feel that I assumed them to be the same box design at first, just different gearing and a heavier knob or clunkier linkage. Turns out it's not. Gear ratios in the manual are also different; the Fiat's are wider, likely due to the turbo four's broader torque band. (The Miata also uses a 1:1 sixth gear, while the Fiat's is a 0.844 overdrive. Rear-axle ratios are shorter on the Fiat.)

Basically, this is a great car made into a good one.

Basically, this is a great car made into a good one. If the Miata didn't exist and the 124 had just been launched, the staff of this magazine would be doing cartwheels. And that's the rub. Because the Miata does exist, and all the Fiat serves is to remind you how good that car is. Perhaps you are asking yourself what kind of jerk moans about the presence of another rear-drive roadster on the market. But when you shave off the focused edges of a special, wonderfully considered car, you end up with something less than special.

Maybe the situation improves with the Abarth trim level. Journalists were only allowed to drive the that car in an autocross at San Diego's Qualcomm Stadium. We'll get back to you on the car's road manners.

That's a lot of perhaps unimportant detail. Aren't people just going to buy this thing for carefree fun with the top down? You always obsess this much?

Every day. It's kind of what we do around here. Obsession can be both great and painful. As John Lennon said, you deal. But more important, the Miata is a car of carefully considered details. Short overhangs, obsessive focus on kinematics and weight distribution, a near-fanatical eye for the seemingly unimportant. They weight-optimized the rear-view mirror, for Pete's sake. And that's proper. That's what makes the car so good, so far above the rest, what helps it wrap around you and feel tied to your spine on a back road. Good sports cars live or die by the details. The people who want a car like this either think like this or want a car company to think like this for them.

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Makes sense. So who's going to buy this, then?

Our guess:

People who want a more comfortable Miata.

Tuners who want a faster Miata with relatively little effort and are willing to cram silly boost into a Fiat motor to do it

Fiat loyalists (you guys still exist, right?)

Miata loyalists who need one of everything

Mazda dealers who like jokes

Fleets (you see how many Fiat 500s are in airport rental garages lately?)

Track-day bros who like high oil temps and aftermarket roll bars

Autocrossers who like low-end torque, assuming the SCCA doesn't class this thing all weird

Frankly, I'm not sure. I know the reasons they give, of course—fleshing out the lineup, giving the dealers a slightly more affluent, older customer, decent margins, and so on. But those seem a bit hollow. As a marketing and cultural exercise, the car seems slightly cynical. Generally speaking, small sports cars don't sell. Culturally speaking, Italian cars appeal because they look and feel like Italian cars, not Japanese ones in an Italian frock. And while Fiat's product lineup needs a lot of things to make sense for America, a badge-engineered sports car isn't one of them.

The 124, and "licensing" the Miata for badge engineering, undoubtedly helps Mazda. They need the money, because they are small, in both volume and ability, and small car companies always need money. Mazda builds good cars, and the Miata is something like a loss leader, helping to define the brand's image at significant development cost. We want Mazda to keep building good cars, so hooray for money.

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For Fiat, maybe this is just a relatively cheap way to gain traction and volume in the United States. Sometimes you get the impression that Fiat spends more time trying to rebuild lost-cause brands—Alfa, Fiat, Maserati—in a country that's done fine without them for 20 years, than it does to maintain Chrysler itself, a brand that lives and breathes and actually means something to America, economically and otherwise. You get the feeling that the Italian half of the company is pushing things that a lot of people in the American half might not want. Or a lot of people in America, period.

But maybe there are people clamoring for this thing. Maybe Sergio Marchionne isn't nuts. Maybe this is just a business-case step to keep dealers in product until the next small Fiat hatch or cool sport sedan.

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